


Blankets

by Cartopathy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Mind Palace, Romance, Wedding Night, depressing lack of smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-06 22:25:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1874691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cartopathy/pseuds/Cartopathy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John lie in bed on their wedding night when Sherlock musters the courage to tell John what happened when he died.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blankets

John and Sherlock lie in bed, in the dimness of pale light from lamps. The suite is cool, and they are cooling, breath nearly caught by now.

And Sherlock's words tumble into the almost silence. “When you died,” he says, “what happened?”

“When I died?” John rolls onto his side to face Sherlock. Props his head on his hand.

“Yes, when you died. In Afghanistan.”

John's eyes narrow. Lips clench.

“I deduced.” He folds his hands across his stomach and stares at his thumbs. “And I had Mycroft get me your medical records.”

John rolls his eyes. “Of course.” His hand reaches to one of Sherlock's and their fingers entwine. “Well, I already told you, years ago, didn't I?”

Sherlock quotes, “ 'Please, God, let me live?' ”

“Yeah.” John's eyes do not meets Sherlock's.

“But did you see anything?”

John's hand clenches. His head shakes. “I saw my parents and Harry, like a dream, like, they were there, but I didn't know why. We were all in Afghanistan. They brought me mince meat pies and Christmas crackers. It wasn't even Christmas.”

“Did you talk to them?”

John shakes his head.

Sherlock props himself up, gentling John back against the bed and kisses his shoulder—that shoulder—then lies against the sheet and collects John into his arms.

John mutters into his chest. “What about you. What happened when you died?”

“Well I didn't beg a deity. I'm not deluded.”

John purses his lip, stares up at Sherlock.

“Not that. I just.” Sherlock stares at the ceiling. “There are some things I will never understand about you, John Watson.”

John smiles and kisses Sherlock's cheek. “Don't tell the priest who married us.” He rests again on his side; their heads align atop pillows, rolled to face each other.

“Well,” Sherlock says, “she's an atheist herself. The Nietzsche on her shelf was fairly new, last several years, but well read. She keeps Peter Singer and John Stewart Mill on her desk, and Religion for Atheists next to her Bible.”

Furrowed brow. “OK, but I've read those books.”

“But her Bible. The name on the cover is her maiden name, but she's been married ten years. Ten years in, she hasn't updated her Bible to her current name? Either she doesn’t love her husband or she doesn’t love her Bible. Pictures on the desk of her family, husband in each of them. So, not her husband. And what do we know about her husband?”

John sighs. “What?”

“He's disabled and can't work. But he wasn't always that way. The photos of him with oldest when she was a baby, he's able bodied; the photos from her third birthday he's in a wheel chair. She said her eldest is seven now. A little over four years ago, something happened, he got disabled, and she went out and purchased a bunch of books by atheists. It's either coincidence, or her husband's injury changed her mind. Either way, she's still in the church because she can't change jobs now, mouths to feed and her husband can't work.”

“OK.”

Sherlock looks pained. “What? No fantastic?”

“Well, sure, but our marriage is invalid.” He clasps Sherlock's hand and runs his thumb across the palm.

“Of course it isn't. A deity who doesn’t exist can't possibly care.” He pulls John's hand to his lips.

John just shakes his head. “So what happened then. When you died.”

“I saved myself.”

“Of course. Right. The doctors were just there for show.”

Sherlock startles. “I don't take their credit for one second.” His hand to John's face. “There's nothing so fine as being beneath the hands of a well trained doctor. But before the doctors were there, before I collapsed I had to save myself.”

“OK, but how?” He nuzzles the hand against his stubble.

“I went to my mind palace.”

“And you've got a room in there that tells you how to save your own life when shot in the chest?”

“No, but there's Molly and Anderson and Mycroft. They told me how to fall and how not to go into shock.”

“How do you not go into shock? Get a blanket?” He pulled the covers over Sherlock's shoulder, snuggling closer and weaving his legs between Sherlock's.

“You have to calm yourself down. You need to be comforted. If you're three, a blanket will work.” He scooted closer.

“How did you calm yourself down?”

“I went looking for you.”

“I'm in your mind palace.”

“You are my mind palace. Every place I've ever been with you is a new room where I can store information.”

“So when you found me, what did I say? Did I beg a deity on your behalf? Is that where this is going?”

“What? No. I never found you.”

John's eyes narrow.

“I found Mary and Redbeard and Moriarty, but I never found you.”

“So how did you save yourself.”

“Moriarty.”

Eyebrows raise. “Moriarty kept you from going into shock.”

“Yes.”

“God.” John rolls onto his back. “Worst wedding night ever.”

“No! Not. No. Listen. He said. He was there and he said.” Sherlock props up over John. “He said you would cry if I died, and that he worried about my leaving you because you were in danger because of her.”

“Moriarty said that?”

“In my mind palace. I mean, I said that, but he said it.”

“And the thought of me in danger...comforted you? Kept you from going into shock?”

“No. No it was too late, then. I was already dead.”

They stare at each other in silence. Sherlock's hand against John's face, thumb stroking his cheek bone.

“I was already dead, and he said you were in danger.”

John's hand clasps the one against his face. “And.”

“And so I came back for you.”

John has trouble meeting those eyes, but he looks when Sherlock's face grows closer and closes his eyes when those lips are against his.

When they separate John says “You came back to life. For me.”

“Yes.” A small kiss to the cheek. “Because I don't believe in God, John, but. But you're here.”


End file.
